Post Mortem: Proud Flesh
by blucougar57
Summary: The aftermath of Chance Slaughter's death...
1. In the heat of the moment

A/N: _I stunned myself over the weekend by producing this little drabble. Never thought I'd be capable of writing a short piece like this. It was meant to be a one-chapter job but, despite the shortness of each segment, it just seemed to work better as two separate chapters. So, here it is. My take on the events on the courthouse steps in '**Proud Flesh**'._

Dislcaimers: The usual. I don't own any CI characters. I only wish I did. I'm making no money from this. I only wish I was.

Spoilers: **_Proud Flesh_** (season 5), and **_Pas De Deux_** (season 3)

* * *

Two shots. That was all it took to bring down Chance Slaughter before he had a chance to fire his own gun.

Alex stood on the steps, the anguish on her face and in her eyes belying the rock steady grip with which she held her weapon. Off to the side, and just behind her, Bobby had his own gun drawn, but he'd not been as quick as she. The moment was fleeting, and he'd not had a chance to fire a shot. As Slaughter Snr and Chance's wife fell to the ground beside him, Alex felt her strength start to fail, and suddenly it was all she could do not to simply burst into tears. She knew what Chance had done, and she had a sickening notion that when his gun was checked it would be discovered to be unloaded.

_Death by cop…_

He had acted deliberately with the intention of sacrificing himself to save his father from prison. As she heard journalists shouting that, with his dying breath, Chance had confessed to his brother's murder, she knew her suspicions were right.

_Death by cop…_

Another suspect had tried that with her once before, a couple of years ago. The man had been dying of cancer, and he'd tried to pull a starter's pistol on her, in an effort to provoke her into shooting him. The stunt hadn't worked, but it had shaken her nonetheless. Later, in the interrogation room, Bobby had picked on it in an attempt to convince the man's partner to turn on him.

_Death by cop…_

Effectively, it was one of the surest ways to commit suicide in New York. Pull a gun in front of a cop.  
God, she felt sick.

There was a hand on her arm, gentle but sure. She looked around, pulled from her dazed memories, to find Bobby standing there. His eyes reflected the concern he felt, but he knew her well. She didn't want pity. Not here, not in front of so many people.

"We… need to clear the scene," he said softly, and in that seemingly unfeeling statement she heard a world of concern and understanding. He was giving her the opportunity to regroup and regain some semblance of control before the blood-hungry media suddenly decided to turn its focus onto her, and they both knew that the best way for her to do that was to immerse herself back into the job.

Sucking in a deep breath, she allowed Bobby to take her gun, and then followed him into the fray, to clear the scene around Chance Slaughter's now-lifeless body.

* * *

_tbc..._


	2. After the fact

"Thankyou."

Bobby glanced sideways at Alex as they sat in the SUV not too far from the courthouse. He could easily have pretended he didn't know what she was talking about, but he did know, and he knew damned well that now was not the time to play those sorts of mind games.

"I… didn't think you'd want me to… you know… in front of everyone."

She smiled. It was a ghostly smile, and it gave him chills. He hated seeing that haunted look in her eyes. He remembered seeing it only twice before in the entire time he'd known her. Twelve months previous, when he'd finally emerged from within the prison walls with Mike Logan, and approximately two years ago, immediately after handing over to her sister the precious life she'd given birth to.

"I would have decked you if you'd tried any of that warm fuzzy bullshit in front of everyone," she said bluntly, and Bobby had to chuckle. The sound of his soft laughter chased away some of the shadows that had been gathering around her, and this time her responsive smile seemed more genuine… less forced.

"I know it doesn't make it any easier," he said tentatively. "But he didn't give us… you… He didn't give you any choice."

"You're right," she agreed, and her voice took on a hard edge. "It doesn't make it any easier."

He knew that tone only too well. It was the same tone she had used when he'd argued with Carver over whether John Tagman deserved the death penalty. It was the tone she used whenever he said or did something that grated on her, or was manifestly inappropriate.

He sighed softly.

"I'm sorry, Eames. I want to say the right thing… but I don't know what that is."

"Did you think that maybe the right thing was to say nothing?" she asked. He looked at her, perplexed, and she returned his gaze with a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Just… be here for me. As long as I know I've got your support, I'll be fine."

Her hand rested on the gear stick, and after a moment's consideration he covered her petite hand with his own big bear paw.

"You've always had that, Eames. You always will."

She nodded, satisfied.

"That's all I'm asking. Now, let's get back. We have to report to Deakins."

He withdrew his hand, but not too quickly. She smiled at him again, and this time it did reach her eyes. She started the engine, and headed back out into the mid-morning traffic, so they could get back to One Police Plaza, and get on with their day.

* * *

_Fin._


End file.
